


In the House

by orphan_account



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 06:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Living on Greek row is an adventure. Living on Greek row with your nosy, meddling, gossip-loving best friends as you try to figure out if the new kid likes you is a chaos few have experienced.Nate is one of the few.





	In the House

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction, and I make no profit for it. I know next to nothing about Greek life, so sorry for any discrepancies.
> 
> I'm not satisfied with where this is at, but I've read through it so many times I'm going a little crazy. Any thoughts, ideas, or comments are welcome.

“Alright boys,” Gabe begins when everyone has finally gathered, mugs of coffee in hand to fend off the lingering grogginess.

Tyson is listing against his side, head tucked into Gabe’s neck, effectively destroying the dignified presidential image he had been set on creating for the new year. (Not that anyone in the house would have believed that; they all have pictures of Gabe with a dildo suctioned to his forehead from the post-finals binge last year.)

“Today is an important day,” Gabe continues. “In a number of hours, we will be inundated with young, energetic, ambitious freshmen looking to find a place—a home—on this campus, and we need to show them why Avalanche House is the best choice.

“I know we cleaned yesterday—” groans go up around the table, and he shoots them all a disappointed frown “—but there are a couple of things that need some touch-ups. Namely, the mess left by whoever thought they could have midnight cereal and not put up the boxes or wash their dishes.”

Everyone turns to Josty, who immediately points at Kerf.

“They were having sex in our room!” Kerf defends, shooting an accusing finger right back at JT and Josty. “I wasn’t going to stay in there and listen to Tyson telling JT to put his back into it.”

Josty gasps and sputters, and JT turns a vibrant red, cheeks heating beneath the beard he’d grown out over the summer.

“Okay,” Gabe jumps in, “we don’t need to hear any more than that. Thank you.” He pauses and looks at them critically. “Also, I don’t understand why you three decided to share again. You could have—”

“No way!” Josty protests. “We’re roomies for life.”

Kerf doesn’t look particularly thrilled with that declaration, and Nate gets it. He had to bang on the wall during dead week last year when Josty’s pleas for more, more, more became too loud to ignore. “I told them I could share with Z and Mikko,” Kerf says, “but Tys insisted and JT wasn’t going to say no to him.”

“Don’t put the blame on me!”

“I can say no to him.”

“Gentlemen,” Gabe says, raising a hand to silence them. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, fingers tapping on the scratched wood of their dining table. Nate can see the angry vein standing out on his big forehead, so he nudges a mug of coffee closer. Gabe offers a small smile in return. “Enough,” he says. “We’ll sort this out after the meeting because no one deserves to be sexiled from their own bedroom. Either you work out an arrangement that keeps Kerf from needing to flee downstairs and eat the rest of the Cinnamon Toast Crunch or we will have some room switches so JT and Tyson can have their own space.”

Kerf looks relieved, but Josty pouts until JT slides an arm around his shoulders and tucks him into his side, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“We’re not talking about that right now though,” Gabe continues. Nate wants to pat him on the back for getting through the first minor crisis mostly unscathed. “We need to do some touch-ups around the house and decide on assignments. I’ve been thinking it over and have a rough list put together, but we can rearrange if needed.”

Everyone nods, and Nate would bet half of them are too tired to understand what’s actually going on right now. He tries to sit up straighter and look at least moderately alert.

“Excellent,” Gabe beams and pulls out an honest-to-god paper list, carefully unfolding it and pressing it flat on the table. “I was thinking Sammy and EJ could handle the food and drinks, make sure that we don’t run out. Tyson and I will mingle and get to know the guys. Kerf, JT, and Tyson can help with some of the games to keep things flowing. Grubi and Mikko can take care of the music as long as they avoid anything techno. And Colin, Z, and Nate can be on the street greeting people.”

“But it’s hot outside,” Nate grumbles, casting a dirty look at the window, where unbroken sunlight streams in.

Gabe blinks at him, unimpressed. “I know, but we need you three to be the greeters.”

“Why?” He knows he’s probably whining, but it really is hot outside, and he’s finally one of the upperclassmen this year, Gabe’s right hand man. He shouldn’t be stuck out in the awful August heat, trying to talk to dumbass freshmen.

“Because,” is all Gabe says in reply.

“Because why?”

“Because you’re the friendliest people in the house.”

“Us? The friendliest?” Nate asks, incredulous, and casts a very deliberate look around the table where Mikko is grinning with his dimples and Grubi is looking like the fucking Disney prince he’s always been. “You’re not serious, Gabe. There are way friendlier people in this house than us.”

“Hey, I’m friendly,” Colin protests. “People always tell me I’m nice.”

Nate shrugs noncommittally because that’s mostly true. He hasn’t forgotten the shaking cream revenge from last year though; he knows how not nice Colin can be after losing too much sleep.

“Am very nice,” Z adds, reclining in his chair. “People just think not nice because am Russian.”

“Yes, see,” Gabe says. “You are the three best candidates for the job.”

Tyson lifts his head from its resting place with a sleepy smile. “You’re also the three most-straight looking guys we have,” he points out, and what the fuck?

“Wha—I’m not even straight!” Nate cries.

Tyson gives him a very obvious up-down, taking in the ratty Rockies shirt and basketball shorts. “Yeah, but you look straight. You could pass as straight.”

“But I’m not!” Nate repeats because that’s what’s important here. “Mikko is actually straight, so is Grubi. Why can’t they be stuck under the sun for hours, talking to bratty freshmen?”

“We’re European,” Mikko answers with a resigned shrug, and Grubi nods gravely. “Even if we say we’re straight, they will not believe us.”

Fucking Europeans.

Nate needs to change tactics. “Why does how straight we look even matter?” he demands, slapping a hand on the table because he’s tired and feeling dramatic. Sammy jumps, and his head cracks against EJ’s jaw with a painful smack.

“Nathan,” Gabe chides, and Nate mumbles an apology under his breath. Sammy sniffs at him and turns to pepper the injured jaw with kisses, glaring when JT looks like he’s about to cry foul. “We have talked about this before,” Gabe says. “Although we want to be seen as the accepting house that doesn’t judge someone based on their sexuality or race or nationality or anything else, we have developed a bit of a reputation.”

“Snow flurries,” Tyson singsongs, getting more and more perky with every sip of his sugar-soaked coffee. Gabe frowns at him.

“Yes, some people have taken to calling us the snow flurries,” Gabe sighs. “And though I couldn’t care less what bigoted, small-minded people have to say about me, I worry that this could stop people from wanting to rush at our house because they are afraid of what others will say or assume about them.”

“So I’m supposed to fake straight to get guys to visit the house?” Nate replies, hoping his tone conveys how ridiculous that is. “Won’t that be worse? My sexuality isn’t a secret, so they’ll find out eventually and maybe be a little upset that I lied to them.”

“You’re not lying to them,” Gabe scoffs. “You’re just…not running around with a rainbow flag and glitter.”

“What the fuck,” Nate mutters and gets a small but fierce kick to the ankles. He glares at Gabe who tries to look innocent. “Fine. I can melt under the fucking hot sun, so people won’t think we’re the gay house.”

“Excellent,” Gabe grins. “Does anyone else have objections about their assignments? No? Good. Let’s get things cleaned up.”

There are cheers (mostly just Mikko and his endless enthusiasm) and grumbles (pretty much everyone else), but Nate would call this a success overall, so he begrudgingly pats Gabe on the back and heads toward the bathroom where he’ll pretend to scrub the tile while he listens in on Josty’s inevitable meltdown when everyone tells him that he can’t force Kerf to share with him and JT again. Last year was bad enough, and they only got together second semester.

\----

“Did you google straight guy clothes and pick the first thing that came up?” Colin asks when they’re standing at the door two hours later.

Nate looks down at his outfit, casual jeans and a flannel, and his lips twist. “No, Gabe said I couldn’t wear sweats because I need to look professional, but I told him I wasn’t about to wear a suit, even though I know he wanted me to. This was the compromise.”

“Sure,” Colin says dubiously and opens the door.

The oppressive heat of late morning spills into the house, and Nate wants to hiss and jump away like an old-school vampire. He manages to resist the urge and only complains a little bit as they make their way down the front steps.

“You know, I own these clothes,” he grumpily tells Colin, “so they can’t just be for straight guys.”

Colin gives him a meaningful look that Nate is too tired to parse out. “There’s a reason Gabe picked you to be out here with us,” he finally says, and Nate can feel his face scrunch up.

There’s a shout to their left, loud and boisterous and decidedly foreign, and they wave as Sanja bounces up to Z and greets him with a slightly-more-than-PG kiss.

“Clothes don’t have anything to do with sexuality,” Nate says. “Just because I don’t want to run around in anything sheer, ripped, or cropped doesn’t mean I’m not into guys.” When Z’s hands start to wander dangerously, they both look away. “Is she here to sell the whole we’re-not-all-gay thing?” he asks, and Colin shrugs.

“Dunno man. Not going to complain though. Gabe’s not wrong about the ‘snow flurries’ reputation. I don’t mind being a part of the gay house, but I’m sure there’re lots of freshmen who would.”

“That’s a fucking dumb name,” Nate says with a glower, and a passing freshman flinches away. “It’s not like we’re the only house with couples. Sid and Geno have been together since their freshman year, and Pat and Jonny came here already dating!”

Colin shrugs and smiles at a group of loud freshmen, waving when one smiles back. “Yeah, but we have the most couples. By far.”

“Three is not that many.”

“More than anyone else, and if you ever find someone who catches your interest for more than a second—”

“Hey!”

“We could have four.”

“I’ve been into people before.”

Colin gives him a side-eye and greets two passing freshmen, who stop to ask about the house. They chat for a while, find out where the kids are from and what their majors are. (Nate wonders if he should tell them not to be too set on those. Most people change at least once.) When they start asking more about the house and the different activities and community projects they work on, Colin tells them they’re welcome to head inside and speak with the president himself, which makes both kids nod eagerly.

Colin reaches out for a fist bump as they watch the two make their way up the steps. “I’ve never seen you be serious about anyone though,” he says, picking up where they left off, and Nate scoffs.

“I haven’t had time. You know I was taking anatomy and biochem last year. That shit sucked half my soul and all of my energy.”

“Excuses,” Colin tuts and waves down a passing guy.

His name is Matt, call me Dutchy, and Nate kind of wants to punch the dude in the mouth before the conversation is over. He doesn’t feel too bad when he begs off to go visit the Senators, saying something about wanting to find a house that is already on the path to success.

Nate doesn’t even know what that means.

They talk to a couple more guys with moderate success, and then a big group comes by, smirking and swaggering like they own the goddamn street. Colin has to grab Nate’s arm when one of the little punks asks about the flurries nickname with a knowing grin and raised eyebrows.

“Why do I feel like this group sucks more than last year’s?” he asks when the kids are a good twenty feet away.

“Last year wasn’t so bad,” Colin says, fake smile still pasted on. “We got five guys from that, and they’re all cool.”

“Yeah, but the roomies were pretty much a package deal. Three for one.”

“Not roommates anymore,” Colin reminds him with a grin, and Nate smirks back.

“Apparently Kerf isn’t into the whole threesome thing.”

Colin snorts, and a passing freshman looks offended, like he thinks Colin is laughing at him. Nate considers apologizing and telling the guy it doesn’t have anything to do with him, but he’s already walking away, pace speeding up as he heads toward the Wings House. Nate immediately bites down on the apology.

“Hey,” someone says to their right, and Nate turns, silently praying that it’s not another groups of assholes.

It feels like he’s been hit with one of Parayko’s slap shots again. Holy shit.

The guy has a friendly smile, unassuming but deadly, and his cheeks are flushed a deep red, from the sun or maybe just natural. (Nate doesn’t know, but he’d really like to find out.) His eyes are a bright, clear blue that reminds Nate of sandy beaches and cool water dripping down bare skin, and even though he’s covered head to toe in a polka-dot button down and slacks, Nate can see he’s fit. He’d probably look good on that imaginary beach. He’d probably look good anywhere. Fuck.

“Hi,” Colin greets, reaching out to shake the guy’s hand and nudging Nate until he does the same.

“I was talking to your friend down there,” the guy says and gestures to where Z and Sanja are lounging in a lawn chair, more focused on each other than the passing freshmen. Nate thinks he can see the flush deepen. “He was…busy and said I should come talk to you guys.”

Colin winces. “Sorry about that. I think it’s been a whole twelve hours since they last saw each other.”

The guy laughs easily, and Nate stares, entranced by the way his eyes scrunch up and his grin stretches wide and open.

“Long time then,” he says. “I probably didn’t even have a chance at getting answers out of him.” Nate wants to lick his smile. “Are you…is this Avalanche House?”

Colin’s eyes light up. “Yeah, yes! We’re the Avs. That’s us. This is our house. I’m Colin, the treasurer…” he turns to Nate expectantly, but Nate is still trying to figure out if the guy’s eyes are completely blue because he could argue that there’s some green in there, too. At the right angle, in the right light. “And this is Nate,” Colin continues smoothly, tossing an arm around Nate’s shoulders and shaking him. “He’s our VP, and I think he’s a little fried from being out in the sun for so long, so excuse his behavior.”

Nate wants to protest, but the guy is talking, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Cale, Cale Makar,” and Nate might be in love with his voice already.

“Cale,” Colin repeats. “That’s a unique name.”

Cale shrugs like he’s used to hearing it. “Yeah, my dad picked it. Named me after Cale Hulse, who used to play in the NHL.”

Nate’s world grinds to a stop. He’s not even sure if he’s breathing. “You like hockey?” he asks, hushed and reverent, and wonders if this is actually a mirage summoned up by his dehydrated brain.

Cale smiles. “Yeah, I do. I’m from Calgary, so it’s kind of a requirement.”

Nate’s mouth feels drier than desert air. “Do you play?”

“Since I was little.”

This is a hallucination. Nate probably collapsed after being under the sun in fucking jeans and a flannel, and the doctors haven’t restored his fluids to acceptable levels yet.

“We have an intramural team every semester,” Nate says because if this is a hallucination, he’s going to make the most of it. “We need some new guys.”

“Really?” Cale grins, and Nate traces the curve of his lips with his eyes.

“Yeah,” Colin drawls, and he gives Nate a strange look. “How about I show you around the house? You can meet some of the other guys, get a feel for things, and ask any questions.”

Cale nods gamely. “Sure, that’d be cool.”

“Excellent,” Colin declares and squeezes Nate’s shoulder. “I’ll take you inside, and Nate can hold things down out here.”

“Oh,” Cale breathes out, and his mouth forms a terribly distracting little ‘o’ that has Nate staring like an absolute creep. “Sure, yeah, that’s—sounds good.”

Grinning, Colin spins toward the door and waves for Cale to follow him.

“It was nice to meet you, Nate,” Cale, who is almost definitely a figment of Nate’s imagination, says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nate stammers, watching him walk up the stairs, “it was good. I’ll see you soon.” He pauses and thinks fuck it. “Soon, yes, because you should come to the party we’re hosting tomorrow. Here. The party is here. Obviously because we’re hosting it. But you should come. You should definitely come. To the party, the party here. Yep.” He snaps his mouth shut and hopes the flush on his cheeks can be passed off for sunstroke or something.

Colin is silently laughing behind Cale, curling in on himself as he fists a hand over his mouth. Nate chides himself for not coming up with nicer hallucinated friends.

Cale’s lips quirk in a soft smile, “I’d like that,” and Nate decides that he doesn’t actually want to be brought out of this dehydration-induced coma because Cale has the most perfect smile he’s ever seen, and reality pales in comparison.

“Cool,” Nate sighs. He waves, then feels like an idiot and lets his hand drop.

Cale returns the wave though.

\----

Once they’ve closed the doors for the day, Nate crashes on the couch, his second bottle of Gatorade in hand. JT and Josty claim the single middle square next to him and manage to curl around each other in a truly impressive display of flexibility and stubbornness. Nate tries to stymie his jealousy.

Turns out Cale was not a mirage brought on by a lack of fluids and too much time under the unforgiving sun. He was very much real and interested in the house, and Colin gave Nate endless shit once he had finished the tour, teasing Nate about his new ‘crush’ like they were in grade four again.

It only got worse when Cale stopped by to say goodbye, and Nate abruptly forgot how to English.

Fuck Colin anyways.

“That was a good day, gentlemen,” Gabe says, straddling a chair and resting his chin on the back. Tyson rubs at his shoulders. “I know I met some promising guys that I’d like to see more of, but what about you? Any one stand out in particular?”

“The Timmins kid seemed cool,” EJ throws out, and Sammy nods. “I think his name was Conor—with one n, which I thought was a little weird, but whatever.”

“Ah yes, Erik with a k,” JT mocks. “I think you are definitely in a position to judge the spelling of other people’s names.”

“Shut up, Jimothy Timothy,” EJ retorts, and JT scowls at him until Josty smacks a kiss to his cheek. Then, he can’t help but smile soppily.

“PDA,” Gabe calls out, and everyone turns with scoffs and jeers because Tyson’s hands are all over him.

“I’m giving him a massage!”

“Your hands are on his ass,” Grubi points out like the reasonable human he is.

“We hold a lot of tension there!”

“Okay,” Gabe calls out. “We’re not talking about that right now.” He tugs at Tyson’s wrists until he lets go and takes a seat. “So Conor Timmins. Who else?”

“Martin Kaut seem like a good guy,” Mikko chips in, and everyone nods in agreement.

“There was also Cale,” Tyson says, looking to Gabe. “I know we already talked about him and thought he was a good match.”

“Oh yes!” and Nate is not at all surprised to hear the exuberance in Colin’s voice. He sinks into the couch and hopes no one can see passed Josty and JT. “Yes, absolutely. Even if I didn’t think he was a good guy, I’d still want to invite him around just to watch Nate fall all over himself.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Nate hisses through his teeth, wishing he was close enough to punch Colin in the shoulder or maybe slap a hand over his mouth.

There are excited gasps all around the room.

“What?” Gabe shouts gleefully. “What is this about?”

“It’s nothing.”

Colin’s grin widens. “It’s definitely something,” he coos, and he scoots to the edge of his chair, leaning forward for full dramatic effect like the asshole he is. “You guys should’ve seen it. Nate and I were outside doing our thing, stopping people and chatting them up about the house, and this kid comes up, dressed in slacks and a button down, and starts talking to us. He’s interested in the house, so I introduce myself and turn to Nate, expecting him to do the same, and he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he’s starting at this kid like,” he makes a stupid face, mouth hanging open and eyes blinking slowly. Nate tries to dig one of their throw pillows out from under the combined weight of Josty and JT, but he’s unsuccessful. Everyone laughs.

“So Nate is looking at this kid like he’s the light of his life,” Colin continues, clearly taking pleasure in Nate’s pain, “and when he says that he’s from Calgary and plays hockey, Nate’s like, ‘Awesome, we have a hockey team. You should join,’ because he seems to have forgotten that there’s a whole process of rushing and pledging that must go on before anyone can join the house, let alone the team.”

The guys howl with laughter, and Nate slouches lower in his seat, wondering if he can convince Sid to let him join his house as a junior. Home town solidarity and all that.

“So I have to bail Nate out,” Colin goes on, completely unrepentant.  Nate hates him a little. “I offer the kid a tour of the house, and Nate tries to say goodbye but instead he fumbles out this awful invitation to the party tomorrow. Like, it was a total mess, too fast and jumbled together, and he’s staring at the kid like he’s the answer to the every question Nate’s ever had, and when the kid says he’ll come, Nate gets the biggest, dumbest smile on his face. I was embarrassed for him.”

“Asshole,” Nate mumbles when he finishes.

They all ignore him.

“So Cale Makar is definitely going to be rushing,” Tyson declares. “All in favor say ay.”

“You can’t do that!” Nate scowls.

“Ay!”

“Ay ay!”

“Yes!”

“Technically you can’t do that,” Gabe agrees, and Nate rolls back on the glower because Gabe is the only decent human being in this room right now. “But ay.”

That was a joke. Gabe is actually the worst person Nate has ever met, and he is completely whipped for Tyson.

“Excellent, so at the party tomorrow, everyone keep an eye out for Cale Makar, and whoever gets a video of Nate trying to talk to him doesn’t have to do chores for a week.”

“You really can’t do that!” Nate protests, voice cracking. He sits up to glare at Gabe, who turns to EJ for a quick muttered conversation.

When he pulls back, he grins at the room with his stupid, perfect teeth. “Whoever gets the best video of Nate trying to talk to Cale tomorrow doesn’t have to do chores for a week.”

Nate groans.

\----

He’s on his fourth beer when Tyson finds him.

“Dude, are you hiding?” he slurs, squinting at where Nate has tucked himself into the awkward alcove outside their pantry.

“No,” Nate answers, tipping his bottle back and grimacing at the lukewarm taste of cheap beer.

“You’re definitely hiding,” Tyson insists, and he squishes into the cramped space, getting an arm around Nate. “Why are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You are. You’re really hiding in our pantry like a five-year-old.”

“I’m not in the pantry.”

Tyson snorts. “Right, right. Things could be worse, I guess.” When Nate doesn’t respond, he sighs. “What are you doing back here, man? You love parties; you live for them. Plus, you’re the veep. You can’t hang out among the old ramen packages and sketchy food storage that’s probably been here since Sakic was in school.”

Nate mumbles something back, barely moving his lips while he glares at the opposite wall.

“Couldn’t understand that, buddy. How about you try actually opening your mouth and articulating?”

“Who the fuck says articulating?”

“Who the fuck is avoiding my question?” Tyson shoots back, tipping his head to narrow his eyes at Nate, who huffs out a breath.

“I just—I don’t wanteveryonetobewatchingmeandCalewaitingforsomethingtohappenandruineverything.”

Tyson rears back and almost loses his balance. “Whoa. I may have had a few too many of things these,” he says, swinging his lurid pink drink through the air, “but I still don’t think I would have understood that, even if I was sober.”

Groaning, Nate looks up at the old popcorn ceiling and spare bulb, squinting at the harsh incandescent light like it could explode and save him from this conversation if he thinks about it hard enough. “I don’t want people watching me with their phones in their hand, ready to take a fucking video.”

“They’re not that bad.”

Nate scoffs and aims a small kick at the wall, scuffing his shoe over the outdated wallpaper. “Yes, they are. EJ followed me for the first ten minutes of the party with his goddamn phone out.”

“But that’s just EJ,” Tyson reasons, laying a hand on Nate’s arm. “I think he’s just happy to no longer be the center of attention, since he and Sammy finally figured things out.”

Nate shrugs his hand off. “That’s not an excuse,” he spits, “and he’s not the only one. Fucking Z was making out with Sanja in the corner, and I thought he was just being weird and filming them kiss, but he was definitely filming me!”

Tyson’s brow furrows. “I think Z’s just messing with you. I don’t think he actually cares about getting a video.”

“Well, everyone else does. I knew as soon as Cale got here because suddenly every guy in this fucking house was stopping by to make sure the drinks were full, or they were just waiting outside the doorway, keeping an eye on me to make sure they didn’t miss their chance. I felt like an animal in a fucking zoo or some shit.”

“Oh,” Tyson murmurs. “That does kind of suck.” He sets his alcohol-infused, liquid cavity on the ground and grips Nate’s shoulders. “If it bothers you so much, I can tell Gabe to call it off. He listens to me, and everyone listens to him.”

“That’s not going to stop them from watching,” Nate grumbles, feeling only mildly less pissed. “I probably couldn’t even be in the same room as him without everyone staring like we’re a goddamn freak show.”

“Do you want to be in the same room as him?”

Nate slips out from under his arms and slumps against the opposite wall. “I fucking invited him, Tys. Of course I want to.”

Tyson nods slowly, lips pursed in thought. “Then we should…we should do something about that. We should make that happen.”

“Sure,” Nate snorts. “Good luck with that.”

“No,” Tyson says and flaps a hand, “don’t be such a downer, man. We can do this. We can do it. I just—I just need to think for a second.”

Nate tries to give him a dubious look, but he thinks his face settles on something more like fond resignation in the face of Tyson’s scheming. “Don’t hurt yourself before the semester even starts,” he says, and Tyson smacks lightly at his chest.

“I’m trying to help you. Be grateful.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry, thank you, Tyson, for trying to come up with a plan to fix the problem you made.” It comes out more bitter than he’d intended, and Tyson’s face falls.

“Shit,” he whispers. “You’re really into him, aren’t you?”

“I barely know him.”

Tyson shakes his head, dismissive. “Doesn’t matter. The heart wants what it wants.”

“Did you just quote Selena Gomez to me?”

“Don’t hate. Girl’s got wisdom beyond her years.”

Nate huffs out a laugh. “You are so drunk right now.”

“Not that drunk,” Tyson responds. “I can still make a plan so you can have some alone time with Cale.”

“Don’t say it like that. It sounds weird.”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Okay. You want to talk to Cale. How’s that?”

Nate considers it for a moment, then nods.

“Kay, so you want to talk to Cale, and obviously, you can’t do that in the middle of the party because everyone will be staring at you, and you’ll make a total fool of yourself, and we’ll lose him as a pledge and as a love interest for you.”

Nate grimaces at the word choice. Who even says that outside of soap operas and the Bachelor?

“We don’t even know if he’s gay—or into guys,” he points out because that’s a thought that’s been hovering at the back of his mind for the last thirty-ish hours, and he’s been going a little bit crazy talking himself in circles about whether or not Cale could maybe, possibly be into guys and just maybe, possibly be into Nate in particular.

“Dude,” Tyson scoffs, head lolling back as his face scrunches up. “He came looking for the Avalanche House. Like, specifically sought this house out over all the others.”

“There are plenty of reasons someone would want to join the house.”

At least that’s what he’s been telling himself when his brain gets a little too excited and decides to come up with terrible, embarrassing, romantic dates that he would never actually go on. Unless Cale wanted to. He’d absolutely go on a hot air balloon ride if Cale wanted to.

Tyson gives him a side-eye. “For sure, but without talking to us and finding out all the cool reasons we’re the best house on the row, there’s no way he would know any of those. The only thing incoming freshmen know about the Avs is that we’re mostly gay.”

“But not all of us,” because Cale could easily be a Colin or Z (disgustingly straight but totally chill with people who aren’t) or even a Mikko or Grubi (straight but more than willing to admit when a guy is cute).

“He definitely is,” and Tyson sounds very confident, too confident.

“How do you know?”

“He pretty much told me.”

“No way,” Nate scoffs. That would be way too perfect and therefore unrealistic. “He does not seem like the guy who’s just going to come out and say, ‘Hey, I’m gay.’ There’s no way he told you.”

“Fine,” Tyson concedes. He grabs his drink and takes a long sip, lips smacking. “He didn’t say it, but Gabe and I met him after Colin gave him a tour, and he eventually asked if we were dating—which, we were holding hands the whole time, so that feels pretty obvious to me, but whatever. I guess, it’s polite to ask. Anyways, we told him we were, and he asked about how that was received in the house and on the row, and I—” Tyson flushes, “—I just kind of blurted out that we were known as the gay house. I know we’re trying to get away from that reputation, but the kid already seemed pretty sold on the house, so I thought he might as well hear it from us instead of the Wings or the Blues, or I don’t know, fucking Gary Bettman himself.

“Then he asked if that was actually true, like if all the guys were gay, but he didn’t seem judgey, so I was like, ‘No, not all of us. And those who are are already taken.’ And then I was like, ‘Except Nate. Nate’s single.’”

“Just have to casually slip that in don’t you?”

“Shut up,” Tyson grouses and punches him in the arm, though he doesn’t have the coordination to make it hurt. “Anyways, you should be thanking me because when I said that he immediately latched onto it. He was like, ‘Nate’s the guy out front, right? He was with Colin,’ and he wasn’t being nosy or anything. He just seemed interested, like  _interested_ ,” Tyson repeats, voice dropping low as he does a weird eyebrow wiggle thing. “So, I’m like 99.9% sure he’s into dudes and 99.9% sure he’s into you.”

“That leaves 0.1% you know.”

“Your glass is always half empty, isn’t it?” Tyson responds. “Now, we need to get you and Cale alone so you can find out for yourself that he’s gay and into you. That can’t happen in the middle of the party though, and that can’t happen upstairs because someone is bound to see you and assume the very worst—not that sleeping with him would be bad or anything, but maybe not yet.”

Jesus fuck, Nate can barely string a coherent sentence together when he sees Cale; he’d be an absolute train wreck in bed.

“Therefore, you can’t hang out here,” Tyson concludes with a knowing look that Nate ignores. “You need to leave. Go somewhere more private so you can actually talk to him without everyone and their dog watching you. But to do that you need to get him out of the house, and that’s only going to happen with a really big diversion.”

There’s a manic grin splitting his face when he finishes, and Nate is kind of worried what that means for everyone but also kind of relieved because whatever plan is coming together in Tyson’s mind will definitely be enough for him to grab Cale and make a break for it.

“Okay,” Tyson says, straightening up. “Follow my lead, alright?”

Nate grins and reaches a hand out for a fist bump, murmuring a quiet thank you. Then, he follows Tyson out of the dumb pantry alcove and tries not to look suspicious as he peers around the kitchen and then into the living area, looking for Cale.

“He’s over there,” Tyson tells him with a finger pointed to where Cale is being accosted by the roomies, looking better than anyone has a right to in a plain t-shirt and jeans. “You have a minute, maybe two to get him out. If you fail, it’s not my fault.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Nate grumbles, and Tyson pats his back in the least encouraging way possible.

“You’ve got this, buddy. I believe in you.”

With a final thumbs up, he makes his way over to Mikko and grabs the mic they’d drunkenly bought at a consignment shop two years ago.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he shouts, crackling through the old sound system as the music cuts out. Nate shuffles his way through the mass of people, keeping one eye on Cale and the other on his amazing but dumb best friend. “Welcome to the Avalanche! How are you doing tonight?”

People whoop and holler, bumping into Nate with pointy elbows and plastic cups.

“We’re glad to have you here, glad to be back for another year. Even though none of us are excited about classes.”

Everyone groans.

“I know, I know,” Tyson says, raising a hand. “This is my third year, so you don’t have to tell me how much it sucks. But we’ve still got some time before life starts kicking our asses again, so we’re going to have some fun tonight. And if you know anything about this house, it’s that we’ve got the best fucking music around, am I right? Am I right?”

There’s cheering and jumping and calls to turn the music back on, which Tyson ignores with a pointed glance. Gabe has started edging closer to him, looking uncertain.

“We have the best music, and we love to sing,” he continues. Nate can see Josty whip around to stare, and EJ’s head pops up above the crowd, followed by an embarrassing whine of protest from Sammy that Nate really doesn’t want to think about. “And you are all lucky enough tonight to be witness to what we, the Avs, do best.” He pauses for suspense or something. “Screenless karaoke!”

From around the room, the guys surge forward: shouting protests, declaring superiority, laying down challenges, and Nate seizes his opportunity.

He darts past a couple obliviously making out against the back wall and wraps a hand around Cale’s wrist.

“Nate,” is all he gets out before Nate is dragging him towards the door and throwing it open.

“Nate, what the hell?” he says, but he doesn’t sound pissed, just confused.

“Come on,” Nate says, tightening his grip and hurrying down the stairs.

They sprint down the sidewalk, Nate’s hand still wrapped around his wrist, and he’s glad people are at their party or others because the streets are nearly empty.

Cale keeps up, matching Nate’s strides as they leave Greek row, and it probably shouldn’t be hot, but it really, really is.

They make it four blocks before Nate slows down, sliding into a jog and then a walk, breathing heavy after a couple months at sea level.

“Is this some sort of hazing thing?” Cale asks between breaths.

It’s not that funny, but Nate laughs anyways, some mixture of relief and excitement that bubbles out of him. “No, this—no. This isn’t hazing. This is just, just me,” he laughs breathlessly and feels something ease in his chest when Cale joins in.

They stay there for several long moments, bent over their knees as they try and catch their breaths between bouts of laughter. Nate wishes the light was better because he’s certain that flush is back in Cale’s cheeks, and he really wants to see that again. Especially because he knows it’s real now, knows Cale is actually standing in front of him, flesh and blood and far too touchable.

“Then what is this?” Cale finally asks, looking at Nate with a soft smile and a question in his eyes that Nate isn’t sure he knows how to answer yet.

“This is me saving you from awful karaoke,” he says and hopes that’s enough.

Cale’s lips quirk, and he lets out a small huff of laughter. “Thanks,” he murmurs, and Nate thinks his eyes look particularly blue right now. “So what are we going to do instead? I’m assuming they’ll be singing for a while.”

“Oh yeah,” Nate agrees, and he straightens, taking stock of their surroundings. “They’d sing all night if Colin didn’t cut them off. How do you feel about greasy diner burgers?”

Cale raises an eyebrow. “I enjoy them. Why?”

Nate’s smile grows. “Because there’s this incredible little place just a couple streets over that sells the best cheeseburger you’ll ever taste.”

“The best?” Cale asks dubiously, and Nate grins.

“The best.”

Cale bites at his lip in a terribly distracting way, teeth pressing into the lightly-chapped skin, and Nate wants.

Finally, he nods. “I can’t just take your word for it though. I’ll have to judge for myself.”

“My word’s good,” he promises, and it comes out far more serious and sincere than he’d intended.

Cale’s eyes flicker over his face. “Okay,” he breathes out, and Nate swallows thickly.

\----

By the time he gets back, the house is quiet and dark, and Nate can barely keep his eyes open as he brushes his teeth and throws on some shorts, out before his head hits the pillow.

\----

Morning comes way too fucking early, and some asshole is pounding at his door, yelling about ditchers and missed opportunities, and maybe something about betrayal as well.

When Nate swings the door open, most of the house is on the other side, crowding around to stare at him. “What the hell.”

“Good morning, Nate,” EJ says cheerily. “We wanted to invite you down for breakfast.”

“JT made waffles,” Sammy adds with a reverence only JT’s heavenly waffles deserve at this hour of the morning.

“Waffles?”

“Waffles,” the guys reply in creepy unison, and Nate stumbles forward, following them downstairs to where the smell of fried bacon and fresh waffles permeates the air.

“He doesn’t look like he and the rookie got busy in the bushes last night,” Gabe observes from the table, and Tyson smacks his arm, whispering something fierce in his ear.

Nate knuckles at his eyes, trying to process the words, though his brain doesn’t seem inclined to cooperate. “What?” is his eloquent response. “Why would I—” He opens his eyes fully and looks around the kitchen, finally noticing exactly how strange the entire situation is. “You’re all awake,” he says. “You’re all awake, and it’s not even a school day.

“Oh my god,” he groans, “this was a trap. The waffles and the bacon and the delicious maple syrup were all a part of your plan to lure me down here and make me talk.”

Bowl of batter in hand, JT looks offended. “I was going to make waffles anyways. They’re the best post-party food in the world.”

“We just used them as an excuse to get you out of bed,” EJ informs him, unapologetic. “Now take a seat, Nathan. We’d all love to hear about your night.”

“Fuck off,” Nate grumbles but takes a seat anyways. The stack of waffles on a tray in the center of the table is calling his name. He shouldn’t be held responsible for his actions in the face of fluffy goodness and the early hour.

“So you and Cale ran off last night,” Gabe says, once Nate has drenched his waffles in syrup and put the first divine bite in his mouth.

“Like Romeo and Juliet,” Z says, and everyone coos.

“Hell no. They both die at the end of that. It’s a tragedy.”

“So you just want the romance part of that then, and not the tragedy,” Grubi observes from behind his mug of absurdly strong coffee, and Nate shrugs, taking another rather vicious bite of waffles.

Denying it would be a lie, but admitting it would be a mistake at this point.

“At least tell us what happened,” Gabe implores. “We suffered through almost a full hour of EJ singing, and I had to break up a fight between Josty and that annoying Dillon guy from Shark House. We deserve to know what we made those sacrifices for.”

The rest of the guys nod in agreement, dragging chairs up to the table and watching Nate with eager eyes. He really wishes he had stayed in bed.

Can’t go back now though, so he bites the bullet. “We went to Frank’s,” he says casually, and there are shocked gasps and outraged exclamations from around the room. JT even shakes his stupid whisk at Nate in a vaguely menacing way.

“You took him to Frank’s?” Colin asks, incredulous. “Our haven and private hang out? You took the rookie—actually, he doesn’t even have that title yet. He’s like a prospect. You took the prospect to Frank’s?”

“We’re not the only ones that go to Frank’s,” Nate grumbles around a piece of too-crunchy bacon. Fuck Kerf and his weird thing about chewy meat. “Half the student body goes there.”

“That’s an exaggeration, and you know it,” Tyson says. “They all go to those weird smoothie bars for acai bowls and whey shots now. Hardly anyone goes to the beautiful grease pit that is Frank’s anymore.”

“Yes,” Gabe agrees, nodding seriously. “Frank’s is important to us and this house, and you took an uninitiated there.”

“There’s no rule against that,” Nate points out and takes a victorious bite of waffle, savoring the perfect combination of crunch and softness, layered with the familiar taste of maple. (He may have watched a bit too much  _Great British Bakeoff_ over the summer. He’ll blame Tyson if anyone asks.)

Gabe frowns. “Maybe we should make one then.”

There are murmurs of agreement throughout the room, and Nate rolls his eyes.

“Okay, but even if we do, you can’t punish me for it. I did it before it was banned. There’s a name for that, isn’t there, Kerf?”

“Ex post facto,” Kerf replies in front of another pan of overcooked bacon. Nate mourns the loss.

“Yes, ex post facto. You can’t punish me because it already happened, and there wasn’t a rule when it did.”

Gabe huffs but lets it go. “So you took him to Frank’s, and…”

“And we talked,” Nate shrugs.

“Until four in the morning?” Sammy asks.

“Yeah,” Nate replies defensively and eyes Sammy. “What were you doing awake at four in the morning, hmm?”

Blushing, Sammy ducks his head and carefully cuts his waffle into miniscule squares, while EJ sits beside him with a proud grin.

“What did you talk about for…five hours?” Josty asks, coming to set another stack of fresh waffles on the pan, eyebrows furrowed as he does the math.

Nate curls in on himself. “I don’t know, a lot of different stuff. School, our families, hockey, rushing. Kind of whatever.”

“For five hours,” Josty repeats, and Nate can feel a flush rising up his cheeks.

“Some of us are capable of holding a conversation for more than five minutes,” he responds and feels a little bad when Josty’s eyes go big and sad. “Sorry,” he mutters, and Josty pouts for a moment before returning to JT’s side and stealing a kiss.

“Five hours is a long time for anyone,” EJ points out. “I would’ve thought half of that was making out.”

“We didn’t make out!”

EJ arches a single, judgmental brow. “No? Did you at least get a kiss?”

“Fuck off,” Nate growls around a mouthful of waffle, and EJ’s eyes go wide with a manic glee.

“Oh my god, you didn’t even kiss him? You literally spent hours talking to the kid at our special diner, and you didn’t even get a kiss at the end of the night.” He whistles lowly. “Holy shit, bud. You’re kind of embarrassingly gone on this kid.”

“I am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Am not.”

“Are—”

“Boys,” Gabe cuts in. “That’s enough.”

“Yes, mom,” EJ mutters, and Tyson gasps, betrayed.

“I thought I was mom!” he cries, and the conversation is effectively derailed as a debate breaks out about whether Tyson is the mom or not and if that makes Gabe the dad and whether they should even be considered parental figures to people their own age.

(They eventually decide that Gabe and Tyson are both mom, and neither seems too upset with it.)

Miraculously, the subject of Cale Makar, rookie (prospect!) wonder, is tabled as they finish breakfast and clean up the last of the red solo cups and chip bags from last night.

Throughout the day, Nate gets far too many pats on the back and gentle ribbing about when he’s going to ask Cale to go steady, but no one seems genuinely upset at him for taking a non-housemate to Frank’s.

They actually all seem pretty happy, which worries Nate more than it should.

\----

“Your boy’s here,” Colin tells him.

Nate wants to protest the title, but there’s a ridiculous warmth in his chest that stays his tongue. Instead, he looks up from where he’s lacing his skates to see Cale at the locker room door with a bag over his shoulder as he surveys the room, looking for an open spot. He lifts a hand and waves him over, the warmth growing when Cale smiles.

“Hey,” he greets when Cale lets his bag fall to the ground.

“Hey, you don’t look half as tired as I feel,” he mutters and drops into the stall, dragging his shirt over his head.

Nate tries not to stare.

“I think I’ve had seven cups of coffee today,” he admits and returns to his skate laces because the alternative is watching Cale unbutton his pants, and he does not need to pop a boner right now.

“Seven?” Cale whistles. “How’s your heart?”

“Faster than a hummingbird’s probably.”

If Cale wants to believe that’s from the coffee, Nate isn’t going to stop him.

They talk through suiting up and warm-ups, random conversation about the time Nate almost fell through the ice on a pond back home or the weird guy Cale is stuck with until he gets officially initiated. (He said if he gets initiated, but Nate mentally amended that because there’s no way Cale isn’t Avs material, even if Nate’s little—understatement—crush isn’t take into account.)

Cale is solid on his skates, confident, and Nate has to deliberately force his mouth shut when he watches him stickhandle, guiding the puck around with ease. He ignores the heart eyes the guys keep throwing their way, shoving at EJ when he starts making kissy noises like a grade schooler.

When Gabe calls them into a huddle, Nate tries not to stand too close to Cale, but he mostly fails, if Colin’s lifted brow and smug smile are any indication.

“Alright boys,” Gabe begins. “Obviously, this is just a scrimmage, something to help us get our feet back under us after a summer apart and see how our prospects fit in with the team. However, I still want to show these guys that we’ve got what it takes to win the tournament this year.”

“He also wants to shut that Chucky kid up,” Tyson adds, and Gabe nods reluctantly.

“He is rude, Tys.”

With a conspiratory grin, Tyson leans forward. “He insulted Gabe’s hair,” he whispers, and everyone reacts about as Nate would expect.

“But his hair is perfect,” JT says, outraged, and Josty nods at his side.

“A true work of art,” Sammy adds.

“Beautiful blonde locks,” Grubi says, frowning through his mask.

Cale presses an elbow into Nate’s side. “Is everyone in the house in love with Gabe?” he asks quietly, ducking close to not be overheard.

Nate huffs. “Not everyone,” he answers and glances over at Cale. “Not me.”

Arching a brow, Cale smiles. “No?”

“Definitely not,” Nate confirms and bumps their shoulders together, not bothering to move away afterwards.

“We need to beat them,” Gabe is saying when Nate tunes back in, forcibly dragging his eyes away from Cale’s bright smile and his blue (slightly green in this light) eyes and red cheeks. “And I know we can do it, so let’s show them what the Avs can do.”

Everyone nods, and they huddle close for a quick cheer before taking their places on the ice. Cale murmurs a soft good luck, which Nate returns, and hops the boards, sitting next to EJ, who looks far too happy with that arrangement. He immediately scoots closer, not even attempting subtlety, and begins to talk lowly. Cale looks at him with narrowed eyes before answering, and Nate breathes a sigh of relief. He may be a prospect, but Cale is easily more mature than half the house, including Nate himself.

When the puck drops, Nate doesn’t give it another thought, too focused on beating Mony to the draw and guiding his team down the ice. Mikko seems more confident on his wing, and Gabe hasn’t lost a step even though he was out at the end of last school year with a bum shoulder.

It feels good to be on the ice with his team again, yelling and cheering and booing when Chucky takes a shot at Gabe. They’re good, better than last year, and Nate feels an excitement bubbling in his chest when he watches the ‘prospects’ on the ice.

Cale is even better than Nate thought he would be, and when he feeds him a drop pass and it ends up in the back of the net, he thinks this could be their year.

“Holy fucking shit,” he shouts, barreling into the huddle around Cale and trying to get an arm around him in congratulations.

They eventually have to break apart and head towards the bench, but Nate feels electric, pumped from the goal and the lead and from Cale’s rosy-cheeked excitement. He skates over and bumps their helmets together.

“That was fucking insane,” he says. “You’re incredible.”

Cale smiles and shrugs modestly, and Nate really just wants to kiss him, game and chirping teammates be damned.

He doesn’t.

They finish the game with a win though, and Gabe decides a celebration is necessary, so they end up back at the house with too many boxes of pizza and bottles of soda because drinking two nights in a row is not the way to start the semester.

With some pointed shoves and heated glares, Nate manages to snag the spot next to Cale, and he sinks into their old ratty couch with a sigh.

“You going to be able to get out?” Cale asks, eyeing him fondly, and Nate really wishes they weren’t in a room full of nosy, obnoxious, gossip-mongering housemates.

“Nope,” he replies, settling further into the worn cushions, and he tilts his head to look at Cale’s amused features. “But I don’t really want to either, so there’s that.”

“No?”

Nate catches his eye and maintains the contact. “No,” he murmurs.

Cale flushes lightly, but he doesn’t look away. “Good,” he answers, just as softly.

“Okay!” Josty shouts over everyone. “It’s my turn to pick a movie, so we’re going to watch Incredibles 2.” Kerf groans (not because it isn’t a great film, but this is the third time they’ve watched it together, and even Nate can’t work up the same enthusiasm as before). “Hey, it is the greatest film Pixar has ever produced, and it’s my choice, so you can all shut up.”

With that, he presses play and tucks himself into JT’s side, eyes fixed on the screen even as JT trails kisses down his neck.

“PDA!” someone shouts, and JT flips them off but pulls back with a groan.

Nate tries to focus on the movie, but at one point, Cale shifts and their legs press together, a long line of heat from hip to knee. His hand is resting on his thigh, and Nate really wants to reach out and grab it. When he glances over, Cale’s eyes are fixed on the screen, watching intently as Jack Jack fights a raccoon.

Nate wants that attention on him.

Feeling stupidly brave from the win and the darkness of the room, he lets his hand drop onto his knee. No one notices, and Cale doesn’t move his hand away. Nate slides his closer. Their knuckles brush, and he holds his breath.

With the subtlest of pressures, Cale pushes back.

Nate exhales slowly, relieved, and leaves his hand there, goosebumps erupting over his arm and spreading through the rest of him.

They stay that way for the rest of the movie, neither willing to risk anything more but not moving away either. Cale’s hand is warm against his, and Nate is reluctant to pull away when the credits start rolling.

\----

“Here are the rules,” EJ says, when they’re gathered together the next day. “First, either you or your partner must be in every photo, and you get double points if you’re both in the photo. Second, you can only take a photo with someone once, even if they fit two of the items. No double dipping. Third,” he continues, holding up another finger, “you can’t use your partner or anyone else from the house for a photo, except when instructed. And fourth, creativity is important. If we end up with a tie, the tied teams will be voted on by the house for who has the best photos, so don’t take boring selfies. Make it fun. Any questions?”

Tyson is cracking his knuckles threateningly, and Josty and JT are helping each other stretch (there’s a lot more touching than Nate feels in strictly necessary). Grubi has an arm around Kaut as he speaks in hushed tones, probably developing some kickass European strategy, and Colin and Z have brought bandanas and face paint. Nate feels underprepared in his shorts and Nikes.

“None? Good. Does everyone have a partner?” Nate shuffles closer to Cale because he’d already announced they were going to be partners, but he wouldn’t put it past Tyson or Gabe to swoop in and try and claim him for ‘bonding time’. “Or partners?” EJ goes on with a lascivious wink at the roomies (who aren’t actually roomies anymore, but will forever have that nickname).

Kerf rolls his eyes, and Nate is almost positive he issues a whispered threat to JT and Josty about what he’ll do if they are more focused on each other than the hunt.

“Excellent, you have one hour to complete the challenge. Meet back here when time is up, and extra points to people who get done earlier than that.”

“Alright,” Gabe chimes in, and Tyson holds his envelope up, ready to tear into it, “on your marks, get set, go!”

The sound of ripping paper fills the air, as each team pulls their envelope open and sorts through the papers inside.

Nate pulls the slips out and shuffles through them, handing them over to Cale when he finishes.

“The quad is probably the best place to start,” Nate says, and Cale nods.

They take off in that direction, and Nate feels stupidly proud when they fall into step together, striding across the lawn.

On the way, they stop a girl with pink hair and then a guy with a guitar, trying not to laugh as they ask for pictures. (Luckily, it’s college, so no one really cares. There’s a dude sleeping under one of the benches across from the library; Nate and Cale asking for pictures with random strangers really isn’t that weird.)

They work their way through the student union and onto the library at a decent pace. They’re on the third floor when Nate hears Tyson’s familiar giggle.

“Be quiet,” Gabe hisses, “they’ll hear you.”

He’s on alert immediately, tensing as his eyes sweep over the cramped bookshelves. Cale stops beside him and looks ready to ask a question when Nate holds up a hand to silence him.

With a finger to his lips, he grabs Cale’s hand and tugs him over to a small nook where a rusty old water fountain sits. They squeeze into the space, pressed chest to chest, and listen as Gabe and Tyson make their way across the floor.

“I swear they were just here,” Gabe says.

“They were. They totally were,” Tyson huffs, and Nate tries to silently wedge himself further in between Cale and the wall, listening intently.

“Damn it,” Gabe mutters, sounding closer than before.

Nate ducks his head against Cale’s shoulder, and Cale’s hand tightens in the fabric of his shirt.

They’re really very close. Like zero space between them. So close Nate can feel his chest move with every breath.

If he thinks about it, he can feel where Cale is pressed against the cut of his hips, just a couple thin layers between them, almost nothing really, and he should not be thinking of that right now.

Holy motherfucking shit, he should not be thinking about that right now. Oh fuck, oh no.

Cale lets out a soft, shocked sound, and Nate thinks he might die from mortification.

“I really wanted a picture of them,” Tyson whines.

Cale’s hand flattens against his ribs, and his hips hitch forward the tiniest bit. Nate bites down on a groan.

“Pretty sure we would’ve been the unanimous winners if we got one,” Gabe sighs.

There isn’t much space in the small nook, but it doesn’t stop Nate from trying to circle his hips and get the friction he suddenly, very desperately needs. Cale tips his head forward and muffles a gasp against Nate’s skin.

“Fuck,” Tyson grumps. “Fine, let’s go. I bet we could still get a good picture of the roomies.”

“Sorry,” Gabe tells him, and Nate can hear the kiss he presses to Tyson’s forehead or cheek. “Next time.”

Nate listens for their departing footsteps, but he can’t focus because Cale’s lips are brushing against the skin just above his collar as he breathes, wet and tempting, and he would really like to feel them against his.

“Cale,” he murmurs and cups a hand around his cheek to tilt his head back.

Jesus fucking Christ, they haven’t even done anything, and Nate feels like he’s already riding the edge.

“Nate,” Cale answers, breathless and broken and everything Nate needs, right the fuck now.

“Oh my goodness,” someone gasps, and Nate jumps, cracking his head against the unforgiving cinderblocks. “I’m so sorry!” the girl says. “I’m so, so sorry.”

They stumble out from their hiding place, pink-cheeked and panting.

Nate considers holding his hands in front of him, but that would probably just draw more attention to their situation.

“I really am sorry,” she says, looking about as embarrassed as Nate feels. “I was just going to—” she holds up an empty water bottle, “but I should go. Sorry!”

“No,” Nate chokes out. “No, we’re sorry. We should, we should be going. We have, um, stuff. We—yes. Sorry.”

Cale nods vigorously beside him.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, and they wave it off, shuffling away from the water fountain.

They make it another twenty feet before Cale starts to laugh.

“Oh my god,” he wheezes, “oh my god.”

Nate can’t tell if it’s humor or shock or something else entirely, but he joins in anyways because laughing is much better than freaking out about what just happened. (In the library. In the fucking library! Nate was never going to be the person caught making out in the stacks. Fuck.)

They lean against the wall, shaking with laughter and adrenaline, and Nate can’t help sneaking glances at Cale’s crinkled eyes and flushed cheeks. He doesn’t feel bad about it when he catches Cale doing the same.

“We should,” Cale begins, still out of breath, “we should probably finish the game.”

Nate nods. “Yeah, but…we could maybe table this for later?” he suggests, nervously biting at his lip.

Cale’s smile softens, and he nods. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

They leave, but not before getting a picture of an unaware Gabe and Tyson cooing over a service dog on the main floor.

\----

“Avalanche House is proud to welcome three new members this year,” Gabe announces from the stage, and Nate is so grateful they go in alphabetical order because he’s already mind-numbingly bored. “Martin Kaut, Cale Makar, and Conor Timmins,” he says as they make their way onto the stage for Gabe to place the pin on their lapels.

Cale looks really fucking good in that suit.

EJ leans over. “Your boy cleans up nicely,” he leers, and Nate tries to discreetly punch him in the arm.

“Very cute,” Sammy agrees solemnly. It’s moments like these that remind Nate why they are perfect for each other.

“Shut up.”

There’s muffled laughter around the table, and Nate tries not to flush when Sid shoots them a dirty look for the disruption.

After Gabe steps down, Jonny takes the microphone with Pat only a step or two behind him, and Nate rolls his eyes at the disturbing levels of codependence on display.

He tries not to frown too much as the ceremony drags on, but EJ has to nudge him in the side a couple times. Fuck, he wishes the rookies (no longer prospects!) could sit with them instead of sitting in a ‘place of honor’ up front. What a dumb fucking rule.

When Larks steps up, Nate breathes a sigh of relief. (Not because he’s happy to see Larks. Fuck him and his house.) Five more minutes though, ten tops, and he can get the hell out of here. Z already told him that he was staying at Sanja’s place tonight, and Colin said he wouldn’t be back until late, which means that Nate has his room to himself.

Cale may look real good in that suit, but Nate thinks he’d look even better out of it.

Gary Bettman steps up to the mic, and Nate resists the urge to boo. Fuck Bettman and fuck whoever thought he was the right person to oversee Greek life on campus. “Congratulations to the incoming brothers,” he drones. “We are very proud to welcome you into your respective houses and are certain that you will live up to the names of those brothers who came before you.”

There’s reluctant applause throughout the room.

“I will not take up any more of your time” thank god, “so enjoy the rest of your evening. Please be safe and smart,” he ends to a chorus of groans and boos, and Nate springs out of his chair.

“Fuck, I hate these,” he groans.

EJ nods, frowning. “Yeah, but I’m going to miss them.”

“No way.”

“It’s true,” EJ shrugs, and Sammy scoots closer, pouting. “I mean, I still hate Bettman, but I’m going to miss fucking with him.”

“Still have the whole year,” Sammy says, pressing a kiss to the underside of EJ’s jaw. “And if you get into Master’s program, you will still be here. You can come to events and parties and visit house, and I can stay at your place.”

Nate cringes at the tone. “Well, I’m out,” he tells them and ruffles a hand through EJ’s hair. “Please don’t get caught in the bathroom again.”

“Not get caught if you not tell anyone,” Sammy responds pointedly.

“You have no proof that that was me,” Nate counters. “Have fun. Please be safe and smart.”

They both give him the finger, and he walks away laughing, scanning the crowd for Cale. He spots him up front, waylaid by Bettman, and Nate rolls his eyes because Cale is way too fucking polite, even by Canadian standards.

“Avalanche House is a good group of boys,” Nate hears when he is close enough to pick out Bettman’s obnoxious drawl over the din of the crowd. “There are some unique ones in that group though…a bit different.”

“Oh?” Cale asks, face and tone carefully blank.

“Yes, not that that’s a problem,” Bettman amends. “They just live a bit differently there.”

Nate walks a little faster. “Hey,” he greets, only coming to a stop when he’s nearly pressed against Cale’s side.

“Nate, babe,” Cale replies and wraps an arm around his waist. “Mr. Bettman was just congratulating me on getting into the Avs.”

“Best house on the row,” Nate says, pressing a kiss to Cale’s cheek.

Bettman looks flustered and mildly outraged, mouth moving uselessly. “Nathan,” he finally stutters out. “You’re the Avalanche Vice President, aren’t you?”

“That’s me,” he answers with a grin, lips spread wide to bare his teeth.

“Oh, and you’re…” Bettman trails off, waving a hand between them.

“If you’re asking whether we’re dating, the answer is yes,” Cale supplies easily and presses closer to Nate.

Bettman’s eye twitches. “I see.”

“Yes,” Nate says, “and we were about to go celebrate Cale’s initiation.” He lets his hand drop low on Cale’s hip. “Privately. Have a good night, sir.”

Bettman sputters, and Cale grins.

When they’re a few tables away, Cale lets out an incredulous laugh. “Live differently,” he repeats. “We live differently? What the fuck.”

“He’s the worst,” Nate mutters and waves at Sid, who looks caught in the middle of another argument between Geno and Alex. Poor sucker. Their arms are waving wildly, and Kuzy looks about ready to jump in between them. Nicke is standing behind Alex with the usual murderous stare.

Nate slows a bit, and Cale follows suit.

Grinning meanly, Alex says something that makes Geno shout in outrage, and even Kuzy looks a bit shocked at the words. Geno lifts an arm, hand curling into a fist, and Sid latches onto his elbow.

“No Geno! You do not need to get in trouble again.”

His elevated voice and the promise of a fight draws a crowd rapidly.

“He deserve! Fucking bastard call you a…a little slut who open legs for anyone want taste. Say you let anyone fuck.”

Nate has heard worse on the ice after a couple of missed calls or cheap shots, has listened to nasty words over the face-off circle or on the way to the penalty box, but there’s a time and place for trach talk. The opening banquet is not one of them.

“Sasha!” Nicke shouts, and Nate knows Alex is in trouble. Nicke reaches a hand up and grabs his ear, twisting it as he pulls him away. “Very sorry, Sid. Very, very sorry. Sasha is still upset about scrimmage, and he has had a bit too much to drink. Very sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sid answers, nearly hanging off Geno’s arm, where it’s still raised. “I’ll see you on Monday, right?”

Nicke nods, ignoring Alex’s plea to be gentle and have mercy. “Yes, I will bring coffee you like so much, and we can complain about all the bad, freshman papers we will read this semester and the stupid men we have in our lives.”

“Very stupid men,” Sid amends, and Geno whines out a protest. “Very, very stupid men who will sleep on the couch if they don’t stop acting like an angry toddler.”

Geno’s mouth snaps shut fast enough Nate can hear the click of his teeth. Nicke waves and drags Sasha away, muttering viciously about flasks and Swedish vodka being too strong for him, while Sasha pouts.

“Is that normal?” Cale says under his breath, alarmed, and Nate shrugs.

“Sometimes. Geno and Alex are either best friends or enemies depending on the day of the week and the weather.”

“No one seemed surprised to see them going at each other.”

“Nah,” Nate says and gently tugs at his waist until they start moving again, heading towards the exit. “Something goes down at this thing every year, I swear. Last August, Kesler called Pat a two-bit whore who had Jonny by the balls. Jonny did manage to land a punch before Pat and Duncs got between them.”

Cale whistles. “I’m just going to leave that out when my mom asks how my Greek experience is going so far.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“Nate, Cale!” Tyson shouts from their left, weaving through the crowd with Gabe right behind him.

“No!” Nate shouts back and drops his arm to grab Cale’s hand, speeding up. “Nope, we already discussed this. Go away, both of you.”

“But Nate this is important,” Gabe replies. The smile on his face makes Nate doubt that very much.

“It can wait until tomorrow.”

“No, it can’t.”

“Bye, Gabe,” Nate answers and slips through the open doorway. “How good are your shoes for running?” he asks Cale as they hustle across the tiled floor.

“What?”

“Shoes, running, good?”

“Yeah, I—well, I’ve never—”

They slam into the front doors and stumble out onto the rain-wet steps. Nate can hear Tyson and Gabe calling after them, obnoxiously loud and probably drawing the attention of the whole place, which was almost certainly their goal.

“Let’s go,” Nate says, leaping down the steps, and Cale huffs out a laugh but follows just behind him.

They run across the wet ground, sliding on the asphalt, and narrowly avoid getting splashed by a passing car.

“Don’t think this suit was made for running,” Cale pants out, and Nate finds it embarrassingly arousing.

“No,” he agrees, “but we’re almost back.”

“Race you,” Cale says with a wink, putting on a burst of speed, and Nate shouts after him, legs churning to keep up.

They pound up the steps and skid to a halt in front of the door.

“I win,” Cale declares, spinning to look at Nate triumphantly.

“You cheated.”

“I did not.”

Nate shuffles closer and pins him to the door, fingers fumbling to get the keys in the lock. “Did too,” he murmurs.

“Did not.” Cale presses a kiss to the soft skin beneath Nate’s ear and another to the corner of his jaw, lips feather light against his skin.

Nate lets out a shaky breath. “Did too,” he whispers.

Cale tuts, “Did not,” and he seals his mouth over Nate’s before he can respond, tongue sliding slickly over his lips.

Nate groans, and they tumble through the doorway.

\----

_Eight Months Later_

“Gentlemen,” Gabe says, looking around the table, “I want to commend you all for getting through another week of finals and another great year.”

“Boooo.”

“Mikko!”

“What? He try and do same old boring speech. Not want same old boring speech. Is his last speech as president, must be better than this.”

Most everyone murmurs their agreement. Even Sammy raises his head long enough to concur.

“He just doesn’t want to cry,” Tyson jokes, but he looks awfully close to tears himself, and it’s late enough in the year that no one would buy his excuses about the high pollen count.

Gabe rubs at his eyes. “You’re going to cry first,” he mumbles, and Tyson takes the whole tissue box when Grubi holds it out, offering a handful to Gabe.

“You’re all the worst,” EJ announces and reaches out to grab some for himself. Sammy pats his chest in what is probably intended to be a comforting gesture but just ends up looking like he’s stroking over his pec.

“I can’t deal with this,” Josty says, turning to bury his face in JT’s shoulder.

“Why we all cry?” Z asks, though he doesn’t look too dry-eyed himself. “EJ still go to school here next year, just not live in house. Gabe will visit all the time to stop Tyson burn down kitchen—”

“That was once!”

“Only Colin we need worry about, but he not leave us ever. Right?” he asks, turning to glare at Colin who looks up from his cereal guiltily.

“I don’t know about never…”

“Colin!”

“My job is going to be ten minutes away from here, guys,” he sighs, dropping his spoon with a splash. “I’m just moving out of the house, not dying.”

“Yes,” Martin speaks up, “but maybe you think work friends cooler than us. They older, not in school, more fun. Then you not come hang out.”

“Marty, that won’t happen. I would never leave you, bud.”

“What about the rest of us?” Conor asks, offended, and Nate rolls his eyes because he doesn’t understand why those two have spent the entire year low-key fighting for Colin’s affection and approval. Must be a straight thing.

“I won’t leave you either.”

“What about me?” Kerf asks. “I was your rookie before either of them were even in the picture.” Definitely a straight thing.

“I’m not leaving you either, Kerf, or Tyson or JT or anyone else. Except you two,” Colin adds, pointing a vicious finger at Nate and Cale. “I am done walking in on you—”

“You’ve never walked in on us!” Nate cries, and Cale shifts beside him, a flush rapidly spreading across his cheeks.

Colin’s face scrunches in disbelief. “Halloween.”

“I was tying his shoe!”

“Gabe’s birthday.”

“He was helping me get something out of the pantry.”

“Vegas.”

“There was a sock on the door! That’s the universal sign, man. It’s not my fault you were too drunk to realize that.”

“Closing—”

“We don’t need to do this,” Cale interrupts, cheeks flaming red. “Gabe has a speech. We should listen to it.”

When Nate looks over, Gabe’s eyes are wide and delighted. “My speech can wait,” he says gleefully. “I want to hear more about this.”

“No,” Nate groans.

“I walked in on them in the shower the other week,” Josty helpfully supplies, and everyone gasps because Gabe’s dramatic tendencies have corrupted them all.

“We weren’t even doing anything! Are we not allowed to take showers?”

“Not together!”

Cale reaches out and lays a hand on Nate’s knee. “Does it make a difference knowing there are two naked guys in the shower instead of one?” he asks, managing to sound calm in spite of everything. “Because you don’t seem to mind walking in when there’s one guy in the shower.”

Josty looks caught between embarrassment and offense.

“If it does bother you,” Cale continues coolly, “maybe we’ll just start showering together all the time.” Nate stifles a laugh.

“You can’t have sex in the shower!”

“I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about being able to take a shower without you coming in and out of the bathroom whenever you want.”

“I don’t do that!”

Cale gives him a dubious look. “You absolutely do.”

There are nods around the table, and Josty turns to JT with wide, pleading eyes.

JT sighs and runs his fingers through Josty’s hair. “You kind of do,” he says lowly, and Josty’s lip curls into a pout. “It’s not a problem for me, obviously, but I get why the guys might not like it.”

Josty’s shoulders fall, and JT pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his hair and whispering softly in his ear.

Cale turns to the head of the table, looking infinitely more relaxed. “So Gabe has a speech,” he says, and Nate can’t help the proud grin that stretches across his face.

“Damn rookie,” EJ murmurs.

Tyson wipes at his eyes. “He’s ready.”

“He’ll be a good First Lady,” Gabe says with a solemn nod.

“What the fuck? He can’t be the First Lady,” Nate tells them. “He’s a guy.”

“First Gentlemen then,” Gabe amends, and Tyson frowns.

“It doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“Why does this even matter? Why are you giving him some dumb title?”

Tyson scoffs. “It’s not some dumb title,” he says haughtily. “He is the president’s partner, a very important position in this house, and one that I have tried my best to fill this last year. Please don’t make light of it.”

“But I’m Canadian,” Cale chimes in, “and Nate is Canadian. I can’t be the First Lady.”

“What do Canadians call the prime minister’s partner?” Gabe asks, and there is a long silence as the Canadians look around at each other, clueless and searching.

“Does Trudeau even have a wife?” Kerf asks, unsure, and everyone shrugs.

“I’m still waiting for Gabe’s speech,” Cale says helpfully. “He hasn’t ugly cried since Conor gave him the World’s Best Dad mug two weeks ago.”

“It was a beautiful mug,” Gabe says defensively, and they can all hear the tears in his voice.

“Yes,” EJ grins, leaning forward like an animal smelling fresh blood, “let’s hear the speech, Gabe. You spent so long preparing it. It’s only fair that we take the time to fully appreciate it.”

Gabe sniffs primly. “If you insist,” he demurs, and Nate rolls his eyes, settling in for the long-winded tear-fest about to begin.

Cale glances at him, and he winks back, ducking in for a quick kiss.

“PDA!” half the room shouts.

Nate gives them the finger.


End file.
